


Loves Me Not

by meadea



Category: TREASURE (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, Dahlia Part 2, M/M, One Shot, don't come near this garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29963625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meadea/pseuds/meadea
Summary: The Dahlia has lost its scent.
Relationships: Kim Junkyu/Park Jihoon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Loves Me Not

Water trickled from tiny holes at the bottom of the flower pot as Junkyu picked it up. The petals were beginning to wilt and he wanted to put it somewhere where it was shaded so that in the morning it’d be protected from sunlight. For awhile. And he was just walking up to the right spot when he tripped over something. 

But Jihoon caught him. “Why,” he chuckled, “are you doing this at night?”

Junkyu looked up, surprised. “When did you get home?”

“You didn’t hear the car?”

Junkyu held the pot one-handed. He removed the AirPod from his ear then tucked it in his front pocket. 

Jihoon chuckled softly. “I see,” he breathed, and Junkyu thought he smelled lemon( _but definitely alcohol_ ), “what were you listening to?”

Since Jihoon was blocking the beam of light from the ceiling by the balcony, Junkyu could only make out the outline of his face. And his body. 

It was funny. And unfair. Because in a way it depicted how they had always been—with Junkyu always the one out in the open, always the open book, always the one willing to be read. 

Junkyu forced a smile. “Nothing,” he said, looking away, then walking past Jihoon to put down the pot.

Then he just stood there, as if he had suddenly forgotten what he was going to do next.

Quiet. There was no breeze tonight. Humid. Still. Even the crickets weren’t singing like they usually did. 

Junkyu looked down and cleared his throat. Without turning his back, he said, “Have you had dinner?”

Jihoon seemed to be rethinking his answer, and before he could even say it, Junkyu already knew it was a lie. 

“Yes.”

“Have you. . . did you have a drink?”

“Yes.”

“Without supper?”

“I. . . I just told you,” said Jihoon, weakly, “I ate. . . already.”

Junkyu shut his eyes. And clenched his teeth. But his anger was not for Jihoon. It was for himself. 

Finally Junkyu turned to look at Jihoon. 

And when he saw Jihoon’s half-lidded eyes, his slouched shoulders, the childish look on his face, Junkyu mellowed.

Junkyu drew a deep breath. “Come,” he smiled, genuinely this time, “I’ll reheat the pasta.”

Jihoon smiled at him, slung his arm around his shoulder. Then he began to smell Junkyu’s neck, and Junkyu winced a little, blushing. “Don’t.”

“Why?” Jihoon said, sounding incredulous, “you love it.”

Junkyu didn’t say anything. 

As soon as they walked into the house, Jihoon made them stop. Gently he put both hands on Junkyu’s shoulders.

Junkyu stared at him in surprise, mouth agape. Jihoon started ruffling his hair, then fixing it, then ruffling it again, the brushing it back in place. 

“I love you, Kyu.”

And Junkyu’s ears started ringing. Like he’d been hit on the head. The lump on his throat began to hurt, and he felt his eyes well. He blinked them away.

He looked down. Then, not meeting Jihoon’s eyes, he said, “Come on.”

But Jihoon pulled him back right to where he’d stood. Junkyu let him. But he didn’t look Jihoon’s face. He could already picture it without doing so.

“You didn’t. . . say it back.”

Junkyu swallowed. Hard. 

_When will you be ready, Junkyu? He’s moved on a long time ago_.

Junkyu forced himself to look up, to look Jihoon in the eye. Again, he forced a smile. “Say what, Jihoon?”

Jihoon was looking at him, lips pursed. He looked. . . scared. “I said I love you.”

The corner of Junkyu’s lips twitched. He looked at Jihoon for a moment, then his eyes began to go out of focus, Jihoon’s face distorting into a blurr. “I know,” he said.

Then he snapped out of his reverie and stepped aside. “Come on,” he said, walking ahead of Jihoon, “you can’t go to bed with an empty stomach. Again.”

He had reached the doorway into the kitchen when Jihoon grabbed his hand. He startled. Almost cursed. He regarded Jihoon apallingly. But he didn’t speak.

“Is something wrong?” Jihoon asked. He spoke firmly, but quietly, like he wanted to assert authority but he was not sure of himself. 

For a moment there Junkyu wanted to do the same, to put on a tough act. But then he couldn’t hold it any longer.

And the first sob ensued. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, “I don’t know, Jihoon. You tell me what’s wrong.”

But Jihoon only repeated, pleadingly, “What’s wrong?” 

When Junkyu still didn’t answer, he made a move to touch him, but Junkyu stepped back. And he could have stepped back a little further if not for the small flower desk by the doorway. Junkyu looked back momentarily to see the empty vase. And the barely-filled glass.

“Junkyu,” croaked Jihoon, “you’re. . .scaring me.”

Simultaenously with the first tear, Junkyu let out a scoff. Then he pulled himself together. 

“I didn’t want to do this until the weekend,” he said, “but. . .”

He could feel it. He knew Jihoon knew what he was going to say. And he could feel Jihoon’s fear in the air. 

Or at least that was how Junkyu wished it was. That Jihoon was afraid. . . of losing him. 

_Like I’m afraid_. _Of losing you._

“Kyu. . .”

And Junkyu lost it. He gasped and tears flowed. 

He looked at Jihoon through the blur of his tears, saw Jihoon stepped closer to take his cheeks into his hands. 

“Kyu, what’s. . .”

“We need. . .” Junkyu huffed, “. . . we need to stop this. . .”

_I need to stop this._

“What. . .”

“I tried, Jihoon,” Junkyu hiccuped, “I tried to look past _it_. . . because. . . I thought you would end _it_. . . because you knew I knew about _it_. . . and I thought that would be enough for you to finally end _it_. . .”

But Junkyu and Yedam had met, accidentally again, last week. And this time, Junkyu had listened. Yedam had showed him pictures. 

Same woman. Same place. Same happy faces.

For the next days after that, Junkyu did everything he could do to imply he knew about _it_. Passing comments about secret affairs at dinner, joking about friends he knew who’d cheated on their girlfriends. . . and he’d thought Jihoon had picked up the message.

Because he should have.

 _He really fucking should have_. _It would have been easier then_.

“Remember. . . I told you,” Junkyu went on, sniffing, “no. I asked you. If you still . . . wanted _this_ . . . _me_ . . . because I knew you’d realized I _knew_. . . because if you didn’t want anymore. . . I was willing to. . . I could leave. . .”

Jihoon had long dropped his hands to his side, and had averted his crying face from Junkyu onto the floor.

“. . . and that if you lied that you still do, I would believe it,” said Junkyu, “. . . and you would put me in pain. . . and I begged you. . . not to do that. . . so I begged you to be honest. . . I begged you to be honest for me. . . for the sake of what we used to. . . _share_. . . and you said yes, you still wanted _this_ . . . you still wanted _me_. . .”

Jihoon met his eyes again. His lips shook, opening and closing. But no words came out. 

Junkyu’s tears kept rolling down. “And I,” he gasped, “. . . I believed it, Jihoon.”

Junkyu put a hand over his mouth this time, as if it would stop him from crying. 

Jihoon pulled him in an embrace. And Junkyu could have pushed back. He should have pushed back.

But he hugged Jihoon back, his eyes shut, his face crumpled. “You made me believe it, Jihoon,” he croacked.

Jihoon was now hugging him tightly. And Junkyu cried on Jihoon’s shoulder, wetting his shirt.

And then there it was. The words Junkyu wished Jihoon wouldn’t say despite all the make-believe. . . that he was ready for it.

“I’m sorry, Kyu. . . I’m sorry.”

But maybe there was still hope? Maybe Jihoon was apologizing for everything? For the pain he’d put Junkyu through?

“I’m sorry, Kyu. . . I tried. . . I. . . tried to love you again. . .”

And Junkyu would never remember what happened next.

**_A Year Later_ **

Junkyu stepped out of the car. He squinted against the sunlight. Smiling, he started his way through the pavement that led to the gate of what was once he called home. 

“Is it locked?” he heard Yoshinori say from behind him. 

Junkyu turned to smile at him. “No,” he said, then pushed the gates open.

“Are you sure you’re allowed to go in there?”

Junkyu didn’t answer. He walked up to the pathway, taking in the entirety of the house, empty, quiet. . . dull.

He and Jihoon had bought it. After the wedding. 

Junkyu stopped and cast a glance toward the overgrown. Smiling he began treading through the tall weeds that reached his waist.

“Junkyu,” called Yoshinori, “there might be snakes. . . oh, god.”

Junkyu only laughed, ignoring his boyfriend as he jogged toward the back of the house.

In what was once his garden.

But as soon as he reached the backyard lawn, he saw not bushes of Dahlias but the same overgrown in front of the house. 

Then he saw, somehow peeking from the green blades of weed, something pink. Junkyu smiled. He trudged toward it. And he was right. It was a Dahlia. He began looking around him, and he saw some others. Hiding. But there.

Then he looked back down to the one he’d found. He reached for it. Then stopped.

 _Leave it alone_.

So he bent down instead to smell it.

After doing so, he stood back up. He looked at it. Like it was for the first time again.

 _It’s. . . not the same_.

Junkyu fished out his phone from his pocket. He then removed the transparent case. Then, smiling childishly, he plucked one tiny petal of the Dahlia, put it at the back of his phone and trapped it there with the case.

“Junkyu!”

Junkyu turned, startled. When he saw Yoshinori’s exasperated face, he chuckled. 

Before leaving he looked back at the flower, bent to it to smell it one last time and whispered, “Bye, old friend,” he stood up straight, “my new flower awaits.”

Feeling foolish, Junkyu chuckled to himself, then jogged back to Yoshinori. As soon as he reached out for his hand and they started making their way back to the front, Junkyu looked admiringly at the petal of Dahlia at the back of his phone.

Then it started ringing. Junkyu turned the phone to see who it was. 

And he thought he could smell the pink Dahlia in his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> You guys familiar with a 'Dementor'? It's this dark creature jk rowling has created in the harry potter books. It feeds on your happiness, leaving u feeling sad or in this case, angsty. . . except I don't feed on ur happiness. It's I who gives the angst, and u guys feed on it. LMAO! Spare my life u guys! I have an ongoing jikyu fic! x>


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